


Bodhi Rook

by SpellCleaver



Series: Shatterpoints [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Bodhi Rook was really important okay and without him it all kind of fell apart, Dark Luke, Gen, Sad Ending, Sith Luke Skywalker, The Empire wins, Tragedy, seriously don't read it if you don't want to see it all go to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver
Summary: In which Bodhi Rook doesn't save the day.Bodhi never defected, and turned Galen in instead. It... all pretty much goes downhill from there. AU of Rogue One.





	Bodhi Rook

**Author's Note:**

> So, I meant to establish that this oneshot series is an ongoing thing, with no promises about how long it'll take me to update in between, but I think the fact that it's been four months speaks for itself.  
> I've had the first half of this written out for months; the rest of it was done in a rush in the last two days. So if you notice any major deteriorations in quality of writing... that's why.  
> This is an AU in which Bodhi Rook never defected. It has a sad (or just plain depressing) ending, with several major character deaths in between because... well, Bodhi was a vital character, and I didn't want to diminish his sacrifice. As Leia said in the comics "If one person had flinched, the Death Star would still be here", and, well, Bodhi flinched.

_Bodhi Rook_

"You have the chance to make a difference, Bodhi," Galen was saying, voice low and urgent. Bodhi trembled where he stood, trying not to meet the man's eye, although Galen was trying his hardest to make him. "If you follow your heart, and do what you know is right."

Bodhi still didn't meet his eye.

Galen sighed, but he clearly still thought Bohdi would help him in. . . whatever he was planning. He hadn't actually said so yet, even though he'd been buttering up to it for a good while by now, going back as far as the last few times Bohdi had been to Eadu to drop off cargo, and if he didn't say so soon Bodhi was going to be late—

"Here, Bodhi," he said, reaching his hand out with a datachip in it. "If you want to do the right thing, take this to Saw Gerrera's partisans on Jedha. They'll need this information."

Bodhi swallowed, but it seemed like his body was on autopilot as he accepted the datachip. He knew who Saw Gerrera and his followers were—everyone from Jedha did. They were insurgents.

Terrorists.

_Rebels._

Bodhi's hands were still shaking as he walked back to his ship. 

Galen Erso was a traitor.

And if Bodhi did what he'd said—if he even failed to report that he'd said what he'd said—he would be a traitor, too.

He knew exactly how the Empire dealt with traitors; the frequent executions broadcast from Coruscant were graphic enough. Many of those executed had been defectors who'd thought the Empire wouldn't catch them.

He swallowed harshly and glanced down at the chip in his hand. People like him.

Sure, he didn't agree with a lot of what the Empire was doing. As Galen said, doing this would be following his heart, and doing what he thought was right.

But Bodhi hadn't survived working for the Empire for several years by following his heart. So he didn't.

* * *

 

Krennic  frowned at the datachip that had landed on his desk. He was a busy man, what with everything yet to be organised about Project: Stardust, so he didn't know what the officer in charge of the installation on Eadu was doing, giving him a scrappy chip that had apparently been handed in by a mere cargo pilot.

_But_ , said cargo pilot had, _apparently_ , received the chip from Galen Erso, and everything about the situation with Galen had to be monitored closely. So he  plugged the chip into his datareader and studied the video that played.

Galen looked tense, his expression harried—but then again, Galen had looked like that since Lyra had died. Krennic didn't react much until he started speaking.

_"Saw, if you are watching this_ — _"_

Krennic froze. Saw? Saw Gerrera? Known terrorist?

Perhaps this information _was_ of consequence, after all.

_"_ — _then perhaps there is a chance to save the Alliance."_

Yes. Yes, this information was _very_ important—in the first few years, Krennic had expected Galen to defect, try to aid the Rebellion, but he'd thought the man subdued. He thought he'd lost all hope.

Evidently not.

_"A chance to explain myself, and_ — _though I dare not hope for too much_ — _a chance for Jyn._ If _she's alive. If you can possibly find her."_

The daughter—the one who'd escaped. Krennic's lip curled. No, Galen hadn't lost his hope, and he hadn't lost his sentiment, either.

_"Jyn,"_ he was saying now, _"my stardust. I can't imagine what you think of me. When I was taken I faced some_ — _"_ He paused slightly, throat working. _"_ — _bitter truths. I was told that, soon enough, Krennic would have you as well. As time went by I knew that you were either dead, or so well hidden that he would never find you."_

Dead, probably. _No one_ could evade the Empire for as long as she had, as well as she had, especially not a _child_.

_"I knew if I refused to work, if I took my own life, it would only be a matter of time before Krennic realised he no longer needed me to complete the project. So I did the one thing nobody expected,"_ despite himself, Krennic leaned forward to listen, _"I lied._

_"I_ learned _to lie. I played the part of a beaten man resigned to the sanctuary of his work. I made myself indispensable. And all the while, I laid the groundwork of my revenge."_

Against his will, Krennic's breath caught in his throat. _Revenge?_ The situation with Tarkin and Galen was precarious enough as it was—anything that constituted as "revenge", anything that could disrupt that delicate balance, would be _catastrophic_ for Krennic and his plans. Tarkin could use it to prove him unfit for command, he could discredit him in the eyes of the Emperor. . .

_"We call it the Death Star,"_ Galen said, and Krennic tensed. Had the pilot who'd handed this in seen the recording? Had the people in between? How many people had Galen now told? _"There is no better name. And the day is coming soon when it will be unleashed."_

Who knew about this? _Who knew?_ Rumours of death and despair could help solidify the Empire's control over the more jittery worlds, but if the Rebellion caught wind of this—if Tarkin found out he'd _let_ the Rebellion get wind of this—

_"I've placed a weakness deep within the system_ — _a flaw so small and powerful that they will never find it."_

What.

That—that was as terrible as Krennic had feared. If Galen had _designed_ the thing to be destructible, if the Rebellion could disable or destroy his great achievement, if Tarkin or the Emperor found out about this—

_"But Jyn,"_ Galen was still speaking. _"Jyn, if you're listening, my beloved. . ."_ His voice broke. _"So much of my life has been wasted. And I try to think of you only in the moments I am strong because the pain_ — _"_

Krennic skipped forward in the recording, an irritated scoff spitting out of him. He had no time to listen to useless drivel about how much Galen missed his family. He needed to know about the threat to his success!

_"_ — _my stardust,"_ he whispered, almost reverently.

Krennic almost skipped forward again, but then the topic shifted back to something he actually _wanted_ to hear.

_"Saw, the reactor module,"_ Galen said, voice steady with purpose and urgency. Krennic sat forward again, listening intently. _"That's the key. That's the place I laid my trap. It's well-hidden, and unstable. One blast to any part of it will destroy the entire station."_

And _that_ was what Krennic had needed to hear. The reactor module. The reactor module. _That_ was the source of Krennic's problems, his potential downfall—and it was something he couldn't change.

He may be a politician, but he was first and foremost a scientist—there was a _reason_ the reactor module could connect to the whole station. It was _necessary_ for the whole station, a vital piece of the whole. And even if it wasn't. . . Tarkin had made it _very_ clear that the Emperor would tolerate no further delay with the construction. If Krennic tried to reverse it now, claimed that there was an unforeseen flaw. . . He _would_ be declared unfit to lead.

_"You will need the plans_ — _the structural plans to the Death Star to find the reactor."_

Well, that was obvious—and it was  easy enough task for him, as director of the project, to get hold of them. Somewhat harder for the Rebels this message had been intended for, no doubt, but it hadn't reached them so Krennic didn't care. He didn't need the information about the archives on Scarif; he skipped forward again—

_"_ — _any pressurised explosion to the reactor module will set off a chain reaction that will destroy the entire station."_

The message ended there.

Krennic took a deep breath. He needed to decide what to do now.

Galen Erso was a traitor. That in itself was only a surprise because of had long it had taken him to become one.

But the weakness to the Death Star—that vital, glaring weakness—

Only it wasn't glaring, Krennic realised, his engineering education coming to mind again. A reactor module. . . that would be three metres wide at _most_ , two metres if Galen had tried not to advertise the weakness. A near _impossible_ shot for anyone. Perhaps a Jedi could have pulled it off, but they were dead.

A weakness no one could exploit?

That was no worry at all. No one needed to know about it.

And if Krennic had lost control of his head scientist, nearly resulting in catastrophe? No one— _especially_ Tarkin—needed to know about that, either.

Which meant destroying everyone who _did_ know about it.

Killing the pilot was easy enough—hyperspace flight was dangerous to everyone, even cargo pilots, and no one would question it if a navicomputer tragically became a little faulty at a crucial moment. The officers and troopers who'd possibly looked at it in between would be a little more difficult, but he could do it. He was the director of the most influential project in the history of the Empire.

He let out a slow, controlled sigh. Yes. Yes—he could do this. He could do this, then all he had to do was find a way of silencing Galen lest he try to contact the Rebellion again, and he could put this unfortunate setback behind him.

He flicked off the holoprojector, then switched on his datapad. Sitting at the top was a notification from Grand Moff Tarkin—he made to curl his lip at it, but then he froze at what it said.

_The Emperor has graciously allowed you to choose which world will be an appropriate test for Project Stardust, upon its completion._

A smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at the now-dead holoprojector.

Galen's facility was on Eadu, wasn't it?

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Galen sighed as he glanced out the window. It was raining outside. Again.

At least Eadu's lightning storms were wonders to behold, even if they caused more problems for the facility than they were worth. Right now, they were doing a good job of frying the communications array, meaning the transmission he was receiving now was broken up and glitchy.

"Krennic," he greeted in a passionless voice. Anxiety still gnawed at him—Bodhi had been replaced on his normal cargo run, and the new pilot hadn't offered an explanation for it. Had he defected, or been killed?

Krennic tilted his head. _"Galen,"_ he greeted pleasantly. It was _exactly_ the same tone as he'd had when he landed on Lah'mu, right before he slaughtered Lyra and destroyed his life. _"Can you see the sky this fine day?"_

What? This wasn't the line Krennic's holocalls usually took. He never bothered with pleasantries—just kept posturing and pushing until Galen conceded to his demands.

Nevertheless, he glanced outside again anyway. Nothing had changed. "I wouldn't call it a fine day, Krennic. It's no less stormy than it was yesterday."

_"Ah, but you see, it_ is _, Galen,"_ Krennic insisted, still in that faux-friendly tone, _"because today, Project: Stardust is complete, and_ you _have the honour of witnessing its final test fire."_

"I would call it less of an honour, Krennic, and more of a curse. It's a weapon of terror."

_"Perhaps,"_ Krennic admitted, and that had always been the worst thing about Orson. He knew the things he did were wrong, that they were ruining people's lives, and he did them anyway. _"But it will bring safety and security to the galaxy."_

_You know it won't_ , Galen wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. It was an old argument; there was no use retreading it.

_"I daresay you'll be blown away by this demonstration,"_ Krennic continued, then a sly smile crept onto his face, a terrifying sense of anticipation. _"And also, my condolences on the loss of Ensign Rook. He was a good cargo pilot; such a shame for his navicomputer to have malfunctioned."_ He went cold at the words. _"And he was a loyal Imperial,"_ Krennic added, and Galen understood.

He understood _everything_.

He understood that Bodhi had betrayed him, and been murdered for his trouble. He understood that Saw had never received his message.

And he knew that he would truly be blown away by the weapon about to be unleashed.

He didn't bother disconnecting the call, just as he didn't bother looking outside as it happened. He didn't need to; the green flash lit _everything_ , searing through flesh and bone and soul. All the while, his eyes stayed fixed on Krennic's face.

The worst part was the expression there: faintly sorrowful, as though his old friend regretted the waste of it all.

* * *

 

"Bail?"

Bail turned to see Mon Mothma walking towards him at full speed in the middle of the hangar of the Rebellion's main base. Her white robes shifted around her with every step—for a moment, Bail saw Leia. The fierce set of her jaw certainly called back to his daughter, and the two's fast friendship probably meant Mon had _learned_ that passion from her.

Her, or Padmé.

"Mon," he greeted. "What can I help you with?"

"You received the report I sent you?" she asked, quieting her voice to a whisper. Bail nodded—it had been a disturbing read, the report about an Imperial research facility just. . . wiped off the face of the planet. One of their informants on Eadu had provided the information; apparently several nerfherders had been caught in the blast as well. Their informant had barely survived.

"Then you understand why I ask this," Mon continued. "But your friend—the Jedi. . ."

_Obi-Wan_. He'd been a general; he might know what to do in this situation.

"He's been in hiding since the end of the Clone Wars," he said slowly, "yes, I will send for him." If the galaxy had ever needed the Jedi, it was now.

And perhaps it was time to tell Leia about her heritage—and, seeing as Obi-Wan would no doubt insist on bringing him along, tell her brother about it as well. He could even have Leia be the one to collect them.

"You will have to send someone you trust," Mon cautioned.

He gave his friend a small smile. He rarely smiled nowadays, not for anyone outside his family, but he smiled now. "I would trust her with my life."

* * *

 

Vader was angry. He was always angry.

When Vaneé reported to him that Director Krennic had arrived, he was angry.

When he had to interrupt his session in the bacta tank to greet him, he was angry.

And when he laid eyes on the simpering simpleton who dared enter his presence, he was _angry_.

"Director Krennic," he said, and it couldn't in good faith be called a _greeting_ —more of an irritated acknowledgement. His voice was dark, his anger obvious to even this Force-blind rat. "I am informed that you seek an audience with the Emperor."

Krennic swallowed, shivering small and pathetic beneath Vader's massive shadow, but he was either incredibly bold or incredibly stupid because he started talking anyway. "The weapon is complete, and has been tested. I _deserve_ an audience, to _ensure_ he understands its extraordinary—" He took a shuddering breath, then, apparently hyperaware of Vader's metaphysical fingers on his throat. "—potential."

"Its power to create problems has certainly been confirmed," was all Vader said. "An Imperial research facility destroyed? Yours was not the only project of note on Eadu, and the Rebels have been known to pay attention when strategic initiatives go up in smoke. You may have compromised not only the secrecy of this weapon, but countless other interests of the Emperor."

"It. . . was necessary," Krennic attempted to get out. "Galen Erso was of unreliable loyalty. Now that we no longer need him, he needed to be silenced."

"Along with anyone else in the facility who may inform the Rebellion of whatever weaknesses the battle station might have, I'm sure."

Krennic didn't seem to hear the dryness in his tone. "Exactly, my lord, I. . . had hoped this would eliminate any threat."

"And yet you did not seek approval of your target before giving the order to fire," Vader observed. "You did not believe it would be forthcoming?"

"I— The risk of the Senate finding out, the bureaucracy—"

"You are as well aware as I that the Emperor has taken great pains to ensure that the Senate will never find out about this station. Even now, he is preparing to dissolve it, and the bureaucracy, leaving the regional governors in charge. _Your_ battle station shall maintain order."

"So," Krennic said, something disgustingly like hope flashing across his face, "I'm still in command? You'll—" Vader watched with dark humour as he hesitated, before that courage or idiocy won out again, "You'll tell the Emperor as such?"

_There_. He was sick of Krennic and his grovelling, and this was the last straw.

He curled his fingers, tense and claw-like, and listened with great satisfaction as Krennic's words gave way to gags.

" _I_ will tell the Emperor," he informed him coldly, "that control of the battle station shall be given to Tarkin, and that you have proven yourself reckless with power, as well as prone to decisions which could further undermine the Empire you claim to serve."

"My lord!" Krennic's fists were clenched now, his fear somehow forcing the words through his constricted throat. "I— This is _my_ achievement. I deserve—" His words were choked into unintelligible garbles.

"Then perhaps you can take it up with the Emperor," Vader told him, taking a grim pleasure in the way his lifeless body slumped to the ground. "I am certain he'd be thrilled to hear your objections."

* * *

 

And so this is how the story went, completely derailed from the destiny the Force had laid out:

Orson Krennic died on Mustafar, parsecs and parsecs away from the fame and power he'd sought, while Vader watched uncaring.

Grand Moff Tarkin was given control of the battle station, allowing him more power than anyone in the galaxy save the Empire himself. All those who knew him understood that he would not use that power kindly.

And young Leia Organa, _not_ in mortal peril from being chased away from Scarif by a murderous Sith Lord, landed on Tatooine in search of a Jedi general who'd long since gone into hiding. . .

* * *

 

Leia had been in the speeder for at least two hours now, and she was starting to get impatient.

"Are you _sure_ Obi-Wan Kenobi is here?" she asked of the driver. She shifted, the folds of her loose white dress shifting with her. The cool fabric was a blessing under the twin suns.

"Well, I don't know anyone called _Obi-Wan_ ," the boy—Luke, he'd said his name was Luke—admitted, "but Old Ben Kenobi lives out here, in the Jundland Wastes. He's the only Kenobi on Tatooine." He shrugged. "If you're sure this _Jedi general_ is living here, then he'll probably know where he is."

"Alright," Leia said, chewing her bottom lip. She eyed the boy next to her. Sun-bleached hair, sun-tanned skin—he looked like every other farm kid on this dustball.

But he'd been the only one to offer to help her when she'd landed in Mos Eisley. He'd been there on an errand for his uncle, apparently, and he seemed like the only decent person as far out of his depth there as she was.

She'd known Mos Eisley wasn't the most reputable of places—Captain Antilles had debated long and hard about landing there, yet at the end of the day, of the two major spaceports on the planet, Mos Eisley had a smaller Hutt presence than Mos Espa—but she still hadn't expected it to be quite _that_ bad. She'd wanted to leave as soon as she arrived.

So the cavalier boy her own age had been a blessing, despite the long journey and his uncertainty of whether it would even be worth it. And what he lacked in faith he made up for in enthusiasm—he'd asked a _lot_ of questions about off-world travel; it'd almost succeeded in distracted her from how nervous she was about the task at hand.

Almost.

"These are the Jundland Wastes," Luke said. "Ben's house isn't too much further, but we'd better stay alert. The Sand People are particularly active in this area."

"Sand People?" she asked, watching the walls of the canyon as they entered it. "What are they?"

"Tusken Raiders. They live out near here, and sometimes raid the moisture farms." He swallowed, then added quietly, "My grandmother was killed by them."

"I see," Leia said, glancing around again. The blaster at her side, a familiar weight from her many, _many_ missions run with the Rebellion, suddenly felt heavy.

Now she understood why Captain Antilles had been so hesitant about letting her go off alone with Luke.

But Luke himself was harmless—she didn't know how she knew, just that she _did_ , and she was always right about this sort of thing—and his speeder only fit four spaces. Leia didn't know _why_ her father had insisted that she take R2 and C-3PO with her to meet General Kenobi, but he had, and Captain Antilles had to respect that.

What it _did_ mean, though, was that of the four sentients in the speeder, only two of them—she and Luke—had any sort of firearm to protect themselves.

Ultimately, it didn't matter—Luke drove carefully (for once, by his own admission), taking no risks, and they got to Old Ben's hut without incident.

And when they got there, what they learned changed the rest of their lives forever—however short those lives might have been.

"So, Bail requests I come to Alderaan," Ben summarised, glancing at Luke for some reason, "in case this threat is more than it seems?"

"Yes." Leia's voice was sure and steady. Luke glanced at her, and glanced  away quickly—this was his _sister_?

"Well then, young Luke." Ben glanced at him. "Are you going to come with me?"

Luke laughed for a moment, then realised he was serious.

"Ben," he said, "I can't leave now. It's late, I'm in for it as it is. And—" He sighed, looking away from Leia. "Alderaan is such a long way from here."

"That's your uncle talking."

"My uncle," Luke realised, " _how_ am I gonna explain all this? Princesses and explosions and laser swords." He waved a hand at his father's lightsaber, still in Leia's hands.

He finally looked at her expression, then, and something in his chest crumpled.

"Look, I can take you as far as Anchorhead," he promised, "but I'm not even allowed to attend the Academy, let alone join the Rebellion! And training as a Jedi. . ." He snorted. "Uncle Owen would _never_ allow that."

Ben sighed. "Very well then, Luke," he said. "I'll leave you a few months to think about it—it's clear you're not ready to start just yet. I shall go to Alderaan with your sister, and return once this whole crisis has been averted. I hope you will have changed your mind by then."

"Luke. . ." Leia said.

He looked her in the eye. "My uncle needs me," he said. "I'd love to get off Tatooine, believe me, but. . . I'm not ready for all this." He jerked his head towards the door. "Come on, I'll take you to Anchorhead. You can probably get a speeder to Mos Eisley there."

"You are certain no Rebels know of this battle station? That was quite the demonstration on Eadu, Tarkin."

"Lord Vader has already dealt with any potential leaks," Tarkin replied coolly, with a nod towards the Sith standing at the back of the board room. "I assure you, our weapon is of the utmost secrecy."

"Not for much longer," someone else said, slamming his hand on the table. "This battle station was built to crush the Rebels, and consolidate our Empire as the only worthy government. We stand upon what is now the ultimate power in the galaxy! I suggest we use it."

"Do not be so proud of this technological terror you have constructed," Vader snapped. "It is nothing, next to the power of the Force."

"And what target would you suggest?" Tarkin asked, shooting Vader an irritated glance.

"One that would show  the galaxy how no planet is above the Empire's wrath. A centre of trade, and culture, and charity. One which famously already has suspected Rebel ties." The man curled his lip in a sneer. "Alderaan."

Tarkin said back in his chair. "Bail and Leia Organa are highly suspected of treasonous activity, and Breha Organa is guilty by association," he mused. "It would be a good target, but I suggest we consult the Emperor first. It is his graces which have allowed us to bring our project to fruition."

He glanced at Vader, who nodded. "I shall contact him now."

* * *

 

Leia had been a member and spy in the Imperial Senate for quite a while now; she was used to extended trips off Alderaan. But it always felt good to come back, and the sight of the blue and green planet soothed her in ways she couldn't explain.

General Kenobi was sitting next to her as they descended, the tension in his shoulders only increasing as Captain Antilles's voice sounded over the intercom, telling them all to find seats as they began the descent.

"Luke will be alright," she told him.

He glanced at her as if he'd barely noticed she was there.

"I. . . wouldn't be so sure of that," he said uneasily. "I have a bad feeling about this. . ."

He was right to have a bad feeling. It was a few days later that a moon appeared in the sky.

Unknowingly, it was the threat that he'd come to Alderaan to hunt. But now it would hunt him.

A few days, one successful holocall and a short hyperspace jump later, the Death Star hung over Alderaan like the moon the planet had never had.

"The Emperor approves," Tarkin announced to the staff at the bridge—they already knew, but in all his pomp he needed to announce it anyway. "So this will be a momentous day for the history of the Empire. . ."

He turned to the viewport, studying the planet beyond it.

". . .and an end to the history of Alderaan."

He glanced at Vader, smirking a little at the sheer _disgust_ the man was radiating, then turned back to the viewport. "Commence primary ignition. You may fire when ready."

There was a moment of silence after the words, belying their importance, as people busied themselves with their jobs. Tarkin had always wondered at what the engineers—Erso—had been thinking when they made it so complicated to fire the weapon. Did they think that with so many people needed to  flick all the switches, there would be no one person responsible—no one destroyed by the guilt of knowing they pulled the trigger?

Fools. Guilty or not, nothing would change the fact that they had served their glorious Empire in this task.

Then all other thoughts flitted away as he watched the beam gather in the dish, and fire. It hit

And as the shards of what used to be a bountiful planet rained down around them, he found himself thinking: _Oh._

_It's beautiful._

* * *

 

The Death Star, technological terror that it was, had still managed to do its job. In the weeks since Alderaan's destruction, Rebel activity had halved and the numbers were still falling. No one wanted to share Alderaan's fate.

All of it left Darth Vader with nothing to do. Nothing important, at least.

Darth Vader was not a man who enjoyed being idle.

So he _made_ work for himself to do. The Princess Organa had been on Alderaan when it blew, multiple sources had confirmed, but she'd been missing from Coruscant longer than necessary. Where had she been in that time? Her journey had taken far longer than expected.

Unsurprisingly, no one—not even the Emperor—took his inquiries seriously. She was dead; it wasn't relevant anymore. But the Force was telling Vader that this was important, so he did it.

It wasn't easy—the Organas covered their tracks well—but his investigation came up fruitful. She had been spotted on Tatooine.

Tatooine.

Why go _there_?

Vader had no idea, so naturally he had to go himself to investigate. Ignoring the part of him that obstinately refused to go back—that was _another time_ the memories and loved ones of _another man_ —he went.

And when he asked around Mos Eisley, he learned something _very_ interesting indeed. . .

* * *

 

By this point, it wasn't unusual for Luke to be wondering what had happened to Leia and Ben. He'd heard about Alderaan— _everyone_ had heard about Alderaan—but that didn't stop him from hoping. Even if it was all a dream.

False hope or not, it meant he was thinking it when Vader came to call. And that the thought was, unbeknownst to him, easily plucked from his mind, entirely confirming to Vader that he'd come to the right place.

Luke was the only one home when he came—Uncle Owen was tending the farm, and Aunt Beru had asked him to watch her blue milk pudding while she headed over to do some shopping in Anchorhead. Vader certainly didn't bother to knock.

Luke jumped, unable to contain his scream when the door to the homestead was flung away, and the harsh light streamed in. A moment later it was blocked against by a _massive_ man, clad in black, respirator whirring, and he was. . .

Luke's stomach did a flip.

That was Darth Vader.

_Darth Vader betrayed and murdered your father,_ Ben had told him and Leia. Had he come to finish off Luke, too?

Was Leia. . .?

"You are the boy who was seen with the terrorist princess, Leia Organa?" Vader asked, mask tilting right and left as he looked around the small room.

Luke's terror grew, like ice in his heart, through his limbs and freezing him solid.

Vader turned his full attention back on him, then. There seemed to be a moment's hesitation, then he said:

". . .you are Luke Skywalker?"

Luke squeezed his eyes shut.

_Oh_ stars _he knows._

_He knows he knows he knows_ I'm gonna die _he_ knows—

"A simple yes or no would suffice," Vader drawled.

Luke managed a jerk of his head. It was the closest he could give to a nod.

It was close enough for Vader.

He stormed forwards, seizing his wrist. "Then you are coming with me."

"What?" _That_ shocked him out of his stupor. "What? No!" He tried to yank his wrist away, but Vader's grip was firm. "Let go of me! I'm not going with you!"

The grip on his wrist tightened, and Vader _twisted_ his arm in a way that dragged a strangled cry from him. There was a pressure in his throat, around his neck—he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move his arms and legs—

Vader released his hand so he could reach for a pair of binders, but Luke _still couldn't move_.

"I am not giving you a choice."

* * *

 

Months upon months in the Emperor's tender care had taught Luke what nineteen years on Tatooine had not.

The Empire was all that mattered. _His Master's will_ was all that mattered.

Anyone who tried to defy or deny it—he and Biggs's younger selves, his late, misguided sister, Ben Kenobi—was a fool.

His Master and his father had taught him that. Everyone had their place in the Empire, all to serve its ruler's every whim, and he now knew his. He had been given his power for one reason and one reason only: to use it.

The Rebellion had been lying low since Alderaan, all paranoia and fear, no action. That suited Luke just fine. If they would not come out into the light for him to hunt, he would hunt for them in the dark.

In a way, he mused as he left the interrogation cell and the dead body within it behind, it was fitting that it should be Biggs, his oldest friend, who was the Rebel who gave him the last piece of the puzzle. He knew it had been Sidious and Vader's final test, and he had been sure to pass.

He spoke into his comlink, "Set course for Yavin Four." Tarkin said something back, no doubt derogatory, but Luke was no longer listening.

Yes, he had passed the test perfectly. He'd extracted the information, put aside all personal ties, drank in Biggs's pain and used it to bolster his own powers. Their friendship no longer mattered—not now he knew the truth. The _Empire_ was all that mattered.

He allowed himself a small smirk as he felt the vibrations under his feet, the Death Star jumping to hyperspace.

The Empire was all that mattered, and this would be a day long remembered. It was the day the Rebellion was crushed. It was the day it reigned eternal.


End file.
